


Kisses With Liam

by serendipitee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitee/pseuds/serendipitee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it’s the people you don’t kiss that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kisses With Liam

Liam got his first kiss at age eleven from a particularly excitable ten-year-old Harry Styles outside the school lunchroom.  It really didn’t mean much in the way of first kisses—none of them really do, and it was a known fact that Harry kissed everyone, even to Liam, who had just moved to Doncaster two months ago.  And it was just a hard press of lips to lips.  Liam didn’t see the appeal in it at all. 

Apparently, neither did Louis, Liam’s next door neighbor and self-proclaimed new best friend.  He pushed Harry into the mud pit next to the footie field the next day.

* * *

The next person Liam kissed was Zayn Malik.  

It was the summer before Liam’s fourteenth birthday, and Zayn had moved in down the street the summer before.  Louis and Liam and Harry, now inseparable (despite the mud thing—Harry was a lovable pest), had caught on to him quick, and the entire year was full of mischief and footie and bike rides and not-always-parentally-sanctioned sleepovers.  The summer that followed then had to, by necessity, be the same, only without school to get in the way.  Liam still remembers it to be one of the standouts.

What made this summer different than all of the others with Louis was Zayn.  The Bradford boy was the first person that Liam ever really thought of as something more than a friend.  

He didn’t question it.  In fact, he never even brought it up, until one stiflingly muggy day as he lay next to Zayn in the Malik’s backyard, the grass tickling his skin.  He was looking over at Zayn and remembering all the little moments they’d had over the last year, admiring both the fact that Zayn was so good at making him laugh (almost as good as Louis) and the deep, dark brown color of his eyes when it hits him.

But he was thirteen.  He didn’t know how to word all that, not without the worry that Zayn might either hit him or run away, so he just says “I think I like you.”  Plain and simple.

Zayn smiled at him through the grass, bright white teeth chopped into cross-sections by the green shafts. “Really?”

Liam had heard Harry’s older sister Gemma talking about butterflies before while the boys listened at her door to what were surely private phone conversations, but he had no idea what that meant until now. “Yeah.”

Zayn sat up pretty suddenly, and Liam followed suit, afraid he was actually bolting, but the Bradford boy only scooted closer to him, putting an arm behind Liam to lean further into his space. “You know what?”

Liam was short on breath for some reason. “What?”

Zayn was grinning, and it was cute like nothing Liam had ever seen before. “I think I like you, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”  Zayn’s eyes are full of happiness, like he’s about to share a secret. “Can I kiss you?”

Why did the air feel so thin?  Liam didn’t know, but when he nodded, it filled back into his lungs all at once through his nose, prompted by the soft touch of Zayn’slips against his.

The sound of clattering metal jolted the boys away from each other immediately, and Liam’s head turned so fast toward where the noise came from that he cricked his neck.  

Louis stood at the end of Zayn’s driveway where it met the backyard, his bike abandoned next to him on the blacktop.  Betrayal shone in the boy’s blue eyes, that Liam could see even from across the yard.  Liam stood up, reaching a hand out as if it would actually be able to touch Louis from over here. “Lou.”

But Louis had already gone, speeding away down the street on his bike. 

He didn’t talk to Liam or Zayn for a week afterwards, but by the time Liam’s birthday rolled around in August, Louis had forgiven the both of them and Zayn had moved on to girls.

* * *

 

Liam shared his next kiss with his best friend, Niall Horan.  

What exactly could Liam say about Niall Horan?  He was an Irish exchange student coming to study in Doncaster for his A-levels.  He was blonde and blue eyed and hilarious and different than everyone else in the good-for-nothing town.  He was always hungry and he laughed at everything and he thought the world was absolutely marvelous.  He was fan _tas_ tic.

And Louis was  _jealous._

He only knew that because of the frown lines that pulled at the corners of Lou’s eyes whenever Liam would talk to the Irish lad in favor of listening to Louis blather on about this or that.

It didn’t make much sense at all.  All of the rest of the lads liked Niall, and Niall was obviously eager to try and please them.  Whenever Louis tried to disregard Niall, it just made the lad work harder to get on his good side.  It also irritated Liam to no end that one of his best friends had to be such a diva.  But he could stand it for a while, just as long as Louis was civil.

Besides, Niall was enough to take up all of Liam’s spare time anyway.  They started hanging out only weeks after Niall had arrived, playing guitar together (or at least, Niall played and Liam tried to learn) and watching superhero movies (they both preferred Marvel to DC) and learning to drive (which was terrifying), all at Niall’s host house across town in Harry’s neighborhood.  Soon enough, Louis being an asshole was a nonevent because Liam didn’t see him more than he had to.

Until a party at Lou’s house, at least.  That’s when the shit hit the fan.

Louis had invited everyone and their cousin to come the weekend that his mum and sisters were out of town, somehow knowing that it was the single night of the month that Liam’s parents would be doing their ‘date night’ thing too and wouldn’t be poking their noses into things.

Liam really, really didn’t want to go.  He wasn’t the most socially knowledgeable boy of them all, but he knew that awkwardness would definitely be looming between he and Louis after almost a month of not talking.  But Niall begged and pleaded for a week and a half beforehand, citing the fact that he’d “never been to an  _English_  party” and that “ _everyone’s_  going to be there.”  Liam wouldn’t give a flying fuck if half his A-level class jumped off a bridge, but Niall was dead set on it, so he caved.

And Liam could tell right from the start that this would not end well.  There was alcohol everywhere (not a surprise to him—it was a college party after all), including in Louis’ hand, which he saw as soon as he walked in with Niall.  The Doncaster-bred boy had his arm around Hannah Walker, one of the girls he would be the first to push off the side of said bridge, and still he looked at Liam like he’d made a grievous error coming here with someone that had begun to replace him.

It made him feel a little sick to think that—that Niall was replacing Louis—but it was becoming true, wasn’t it?  Niall was awesome, and Louis was being a straight-up bitch lately, so no one could blame Liam for ditching him.

All the same, Harry and Zayn frowned slightly at Liam when they saw the scowl on his face that was brought on by being in a house the three of them were practically raised in.  But someone pressed a drink into his hand soon enough, and then their disapproval didn’t matter anymore.

Liam danced with people he didn’t remember ever seeing before and flirted like a fool and generally didn’t care what the hell he was doing.  He did his fair share of hanging all over Niall like a clingy girlfriend, something that the equally-intoxicated lad only giggled and blushed at, until someone pulled him off and down a familiar hallway into Louis’s bedroom.

The couple making out on Louis’s bed were made scarce by a harsh “get the fuck out” from a scratchy voice that sounded so familiar that he had trouble placing it.  It wasn’t until he watched the boy close the door behind the pair that he recognized it as Lou’s.  

And if it wasn’t happening right in front of Liam, he wouldn’t have known that Louis could have that disgusted look in his eyes.  ”What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You invited me, wanker.”  It surprised Liam just how harsh his own voice sounded echoing around Louis’s room, a place he’d spent nearly as much time in as his bedroom growing up.  It actually made his heart hurt, squeezing painfully in his chest.

“I didn’t expect you to bring  _him_.”  The way Louis said it was so contemptuous and hateful that Liam had to double check that he was not actually having a nightmare, biting his lip hard between his teeth.  Louis was capable of a lot of things—stealing a football, climbing to the very top of the maple tree in Harry’s backyard, making Liam laugh so hard that he almost pees himself—but hate was not one of them.  

It stung, but it also made Liam spring into action to defend Niall.  If Louis had ever even given Niall a chance, then they would definitely have gotten on the same way he had with Liam.  But no.  Instead, Louis had reached out to a girl that he knew had teased Liam mercilessly since first year. “I didn’t expect that bitch to be here, either.  So I guess we’ll both have to deal,” Liam hissed.

He turned on his heel toward the door, hearing the music pound and feeling the alcohol in his bloodstream turn poisonous.  He couldn’t deal with Louis right now, not when they were both drunk and furious.

But then Louis said it. “I should have known.  You’ve always been a big fat faggot.”

That hit Liam hard enough for him to want to double over in pain, because he was positive that if he did, he would spit blood and a broken friendship out onto the carpet.  

But he didn’t do that.  

He didn’t even turn around, not when Louis took a breath that was sure to be the start to an apology that he didn’t all the way mean.  Instead of turning around to face the boy that used to be his best friend, Liam opened the door to his bedroom and walked out.

The party outside of Louis’s room had continued on as if the world hadn’t just gone to shit.  Niall waved Liam over from across the crowded living room.

At the sight of the Irishman, Liam had a foully genius idea.  He strode over the golden-brown hardwood and laid a kiss right on Niall’s pink lips in front of the entirety of his graduating class.

A hush overtook the party, though music still pounded on a playlist, as they noticed the fact that Liam, the abstinent one of the year, was getting action of any kind.  Immensely proud with himself, even as Louis emerged down the hallway into the room, Liam threw both arms out unapologetically. “I’m gay!”

Harry and Zayn looked at each other and (as if they hadn’t known forever) cheered loudly enough for the whole party to join in.

Liam avoided Louis’s reddened eyes for the rest of the night.  One thing he couldn’t avoid, however, was Niall, who yanked the boy out of the front door into the warm spring night not a minute after the kiss.

“What the fuck was that, Li?”

Liam was already tripping over his own feet with alcohol and the sort of sadness that makes the world fade into a timeless, colorless blur of nothing, so it made sense that he had no idea why Niall was so offended. “What?  It was just a kiss.”

“Just a kiss?  Jesus Christ, Liam, you kissed me in front of our  _entire fucking school_.  What the bloody hell were you thinking?”

“I—I was….”  If he was honest with himself, Liam had no idea what he was thinking.  Or maybe he did.  He was thinking that he needed to make Louis pay for what he’d said, and though kissing a guy was probably the most counterintuitivething he could do about being called a faggot, it seemed like it had hit the way he wanted it to.  Louis had looked wrecked when Liam last saw him. “Lou called me a faggot.”  Saying it out loud made it real, and Liam rubbed his eyes fiercely with clenched fists to make the burning there go away.

Niall’s eyes shone sadly in the moonlight filtering though the clouds, breath deflating out of him like a half-filled balloon. “Jesus.  Okay, come on.  We’re going home.”

Liam fell asleep with his head on Niall’s chest, the Irish lad’s shirt wet with tears and the blood that seeped out from Liam’s shattered heart.

* * *

 

The following Monday, by necessity, had to be the worst day of Liam’s entire life.

The guys tried to diffuse it in their own little ways.  Niall stuck like glue to Liam’s side, cracking jokes and making Liam smile, even if he didn’t feel it.  Zayn was hostile and unwelcoming, using that reputation he’d had for being the mysterious one to his advantage.  

Harry, who’d come out a few years ago, remembered the sting of scathing looks and mean laughs behind his back all too well.  Most of the school had moved on from that, forced into acceptance by the popularity Hazza commanded through his charm, and those who had stopped short of their curious looks at a glare from the younger boy, faces turning white with shame and embarassment.

Louis was nowhere to be found.  Liam thought he probably stayed home.

Even with the guys close by, Liam was stalked by that word—the one Louis had used so effectively on Saturday night, the one that he threw at Liam like a knife and that had the same gory effect as a blade, tearing him open.  People whispered it in the hallways, in his classes.  It was laughed out melodically by the pretty girls in the lunchroom, cursed lowly at him by the boys on the footie team that Liam had talked so easily with the week before.  It followed him wherever he went, a single word, filled up to the top with such hate that it poured out all over the floor and seeped underneath Liam’s skin.   _Faggot._   They said it like it was something deplorable, for him to love.  Like it was something worth loathing.

He stayed composed, though, the lads being by his side all day, more for their sake than his.  And for the most part, no one tried anything.

Not until he got to his locker in the afternoon, at least.  The lads had broken away to get their own stuff, planning to meet at the back door of the school where their bikes were locked up to the rack.  He hadn’t seen Louis all day.

Liam had been bent down to fish his maths binder from the bottom of his locker when someone gave him a hard shove from behind.  His face hit the smooth aluminum door of the locker next to his, and stars exploded in front of his eyes, a sound like dry cornflakes crunching coming when his nose smashed into the metal.  He cried out as something that tasted rusty and warm filled his mouth and dripped down his chin.

The person clearly wasn’t done, though.  They pushed him onto his side, and Liam did nothing to stop them, falling hard onto his left shoulder.  A sharp pain met the middle of his back, his spine screaming out in pain, and he yelped a garbled ‘stop’, but it was to no avail.  

The blows kept coming, over and over and over, all over, each one paired all too happily with that word. “Faggot.  Faggot.  Faggot.”  He had never heard this boy’s voice before, which could only mean that Liam didn’t know him, that he didn’t know Liam.  All that he knew was what Liam was: gay.  And that was enough.

“HEY!”  Through his haze of pain (all over, he hurt  _everywhere_ ), Liam could hear a familiar voice, though the words were unintelligible.  A scuffle, then a dull thud, and a pained groan, and Liam was relieved of the onslaught, pulled out from under the avalanche of violence that had just fallen over him.  He sighed in relief, shaking on the filthy speckled floor, but didn’t allow the torrent of tears he felt lurking in the corners of his eyes to flood out, afraid that doing that would bring the beating back with more force.

Someone yelled again behind him, a call of distress, and Liam knew that sound, he’d heard it before, and it shot a shock of upset through his veins.  Grunting, and scuffling, and someone fell to the ground.  Silence.

“Liam.”  And yeah, he knew who that was, who was whimpering so pitifully behind him.  Louis floated worriedly over Liam’s prone body, one blue eye swollen almost all the way shut and blood at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, god, Liam, I am so sorry.”  There were wet streaks littered all over his pale face, and Liam had only ever seen Louis this distressed the night after his parents told him and his sisters that they were splitting up. “I didn’t mean it, Liam, I didn’t.  I am so, so sorry.  I can’t believe I let you get hurt.”  A sob tore out of Louis’s lips, and he put a hand to his mouth.  The skin stretching over his knuckles was painted a gruesome shade of maroon, blood that hopefully wasn’t from Louis.

The sight made the tenuous hold on composure Liam had since the beating started loosen and let go, and then Liam was crying, harder than he had the night of the party—harder than he ever had in his entire life—and it made every sore part on his body ache worse.  He fisted a hand in the front of Louis’s t-shirt, and Louis pulled him up and into his arms, whispering apologies right into Liam’s ear over and over.  Liam only tightened his hold on Louis’s shirt front, forgiving him with every syllable.

* * *

 

Louis William Tomlinson is the last person Liam kissed before graduating.

They were healing from the fight when it happened, having pestered their mothers into letting the boys stay together even as the condition of their bodies stopped them from going to school.  Louis and Liam had mended their broken friendship in that one moment when Louis had come to Liam’s aid in the hallway, and that was that.  They were best friends again.

It didn’t stop Liam from thinking, though.  That was all he could really do while he was bedridden.  He thought and thought, and still couldn’t come up with a reason, so when Louis (the more healed of the two) came back to Liam’s bedroom with matching cups of tea—two sugars and a dash of milk for both of them—he asked. “Why?”

Louis knew exactly what he was talking about, by the self-disgusted look on his face.  He sunk down onto ‘his’ side of Liam’s full-size bed and abandoned the mugs on the crowded bedside table next to the alarm clock.  He folded his legs underneath him Indian-style, and threaded his fingers together, looking at the appendages thoughtfully for a moment. “I was jealous.”

Liam knew that.  He knew Lou had been jealous, but that didn’t seem to cover it.  Just how jealous did Louis have to be to allow himself to say something he intended to be so cruel?  Liam simply stared back when Louis glanced up at him, urging him to continue.

“I was jealous because I thought Niall had you and I didn’t.  I didn’t want you to be with him.  I didn’t want you to be with anyone that isn’t me.”

For some reason, that made Liam’s stomach drop. “Didn’t?”

Louis smiled ruefully at him. “Didn’t.  Still don’t.”

Liam’s breathing went erratic the same way it had when he kissed Zayn. “You want to be with me?”  And like telling Niall about Liam and Louis’s fight, saying it out loud made it real.  Liam suddenly thought of being with Louis the way he meant—spending their days together and then spending the night, saying ‘I love you’ and meaning it more than the way he meant it with his mum and the lads, kissing Louis.  It had never even crossed his mind before.  It sounded so bizzare.  It sounded…perfect.

Louis blinked at him, and it was complete honesty that coated every pore in his face, the smile gone, blue eyes glowing. “I always have.”

Louis William Tomlinson was the last person Liam kissed before graduation and the first one he kissed after.  Louis was the first man he slept with and the last one, he was the first boy he’d ever loved and the only one he’d ever fallen  _in_  love with.  He was the first person Liam saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night.  He was Liam’s first and his last, and he was everything.


End file.
